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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697526">dirty dishes</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyoxyys/pseuds/dyoxyys'>dyoxyys</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bandstand - Oberacker/Oberacker &amp; Taylor</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, and they were roommates oh my god they were roommates, its not like Super nick/wayne its just implied, really this is just a snapshot of what healing looks like</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:21:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,401</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23697526</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dyoxyys/pseuds/dyoxyys</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It seemed obvious, and it kept seeming obvious; Wayne couldn’t stand washing dishes by hand.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Nick Radel/Wayne Wright</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>36</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>dirty dishes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>huge shoutout to carissa who typed this up for me after I was foolish enough to handwrite it all<br/>I literally haven't written anything for fun in So Long but they always say write what u know so i couldn't just Not write this... fuck handwashing dishes</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He first noticed it about two weeks after Wayne moved in. It was little things: his tendency toward paperware despite how quickly it filled the trash can, the way he put off sink dishes until after he had swept, mopped, dusted, and disinfected everything in the house twice, how his nose scrunched up in the same way it tended to when he emptied his spit valve, even when he wore gloves, things like that that caused Nick to take pause. It seemed obvious, and it kept seeming obvious; Wayne couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>stand </span>
  </em>
  <span>washing dishes by hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wayne left for lunch with his kids at exactly eleven-thirty every morning. That’s where it started. Wayne was out the door at eleven-thirty, and by eleven thirty-five Nick was filling up the sink with warm water and bubbles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There weren’t many dishes- there were rarely ever many unclean things in the Radel-Wright apartment- but Nick wanted to do it properly. If Wayne saw even a smidge of food, then this was all for nothing, so Nick took special care with each and every plate, bowl, and cutlery. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honestly, he didn’t hate cleaning the dishes as much as he had expected. It was nice, being presented with a simple, goal-oriented task and being able to easily tell when the task was complete. The fact that he wasn’t doing it for himself was, surprisingly, an additional motivator. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It still wasn’t necessarily Nick’s idea of a good time, but- well, Wayne did everything in the house. It was only fair, right? If asked, that was his excuse and he would stick with it. It was easier to say he was just doing his fair share in his own house than it was to say he wanted to make life a little bit easier for Wayne in any way he could. That felt too honest. Too open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When Wayne got home (at exactly two in the afternoon), Nick was on the couch listening to the radio as if this were a normal day. Even from his position in the living room, he swore he could sense a bit of the tension Wayne always carried with him disappear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wayne didn’t thank him- neither of them felt right saying “thank you” for anything, it didn’t sit right in their mouths- but he did accept Nick’s offer to practice improv that night, and really, that was close enough.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>On Wednesdays, Wayne went to the library after lunch. Sometimes, Nick had lessons at that time, but this week, a student had canceled and he was free. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The cancellation was a lucky thing, in Nick’s book, because there were seven dishes in the sink. To Nick, that amount seemed small, but he knew it was bothering Wayne that there was anything in the house that didn’t meet his standard of cleanliness. So, as any good roommate would, Nick rolled up his sleeves and got to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should’ve known Wayne would want to talk about it when he got home (empty-handed; he never brought books home from the library), he tended to be annoying like that. He always insisted there be communication in this household, the asshole, but for some reason, in his rush to be helpful, he had forgotten that simple, important fact. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” Wayne asked, face neutral, just curious, not accusing, but Nick wanted to run regardless. He wanted to lie, or to snap, or to play dumb, but what he ended up saying was- </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you don’t like to.” Too close to the truth. Backtrack, escape, avoid. “Besides,” he added with feigned flippancy, “figured it was only fair I did something in this damn household besides make the messes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wayne was a good man, so he just nodded at that and let it be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later, after lights were out and the apartment was silent, Nick wondered why he could never find it in himself to fight with Wayne, or even tell him a fib. He wondered when he had stopped thinking of it as his own apartment and accepted that Wayne was a staple in his life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>These questions were daunting, but he reasoned that’s probably just what having a best friend is like and decided against any further introspection for the night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>It became a constant in the Radel-Wright household that Nick would wash the dishes every other night. Nick grew used to scrubbing plates while humming along to the radio, finding enjoyment in what would typically be tedious and boring to him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he was less used to was how he’d occasionally catch Wayne looking at him, expression open but unreadable. He dropped the cup he was washing the first time he noticed but the foamy water prevented it from shattering. He wasn’t sure why Wayne’s eyes kept finding him when he pushed up his sleeves and did the only chore Wayne didn’t find solace in, but it felt delicate. It felt dangerous. Oddly, it felt comforting. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It only took a month for the camel’s back to break. It was a Thursday, which seemed important because they always had home-cooked meals on Thursdays. As such, dinner had generated a significant amount of dishes, so Nick got up to wash them, and it struck him how homely and familial the whole situation was. He could feel Wayne watching him, knew the newspaper in his hands was just a cover, and it all felt like a rubber band snapping hard and unexpectedly against a wrist. It was too domestic, it was too natural, it was too distant, and all at once it was too much. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could talk sense into himself, he set the dish he was washing back in the suds, carefully dried off his hands because dripping hands drove Wayne up the wall and that’s not what he wanted right then, and turned around to meet his friend’s eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” he asked, unsure what his face looked like at that moment. He hoped he didn’t look as scared as he felt. He knew Wayne understood the question- words were barely needed for them to communicate at this point, after all, and what could he be referring to other than the obvious? </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘Why are you watching me, why do you keep watching me, why aren’t you reading that newspaper you’re holding so tightly your knuckles are white?’</span>
  </em>
  <span> Just why was enough. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched Wayne set down the newspaper, take a deep breath, close his eyes, open them.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because you saw that I don’t like to,” he answered,  voice soft, quiet, cautious, like he was afraid Nick would bolt at any moment, “and no one else would do this for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nick knew the smart thing to do would be to accept that. It’d be safer. Easier, even. Nick Radel had never trusted safe and easy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took a step closer to Wayne, testing the waters. Wayne stood, and Nick froze, unsure of what his next move would be. Would he run? Was he just creating equal ground? Was he trying to give Nick an out? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, of course I’d wash the fuckin’ dishes for you, Wayne, I care about you,” Nick spoke, almost against his own will, quietly to avoid his voice breaking and betraying him, everything in him trying to keep Wayne from fleeing the kitchen. He hated himself for being so transparent, and he regretted his words almost immediately. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Nick could draw back, run away, escape at any cost, there were arms wrapping around him- a hug. Wayne was hugging him. Infamously touch averse Wayne Wright was hugging him. It felt fake. It felt safe, but not in the bad way that Nick was used. As suddenly as it had started though, it was over and Wayne had retreated to the doorway, effectively putting a healthy distance between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nick had never seen Wayne look so uncertain and indecisive. It was unsettling. He didn’t like it, he decided, and he didn’t like that he was the one who caused that look.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too,” was the only verbal reply Nick got before Wayne was turning and retreating to his room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was an odd thing, learning to trust and relax again. Months ago, Nick would likely have spiraled over that interaction, would’ve punched a wall for being so stupid and unguarded. After the months he’s had to heal, though, he felt like maybe it would be okay if he just turned around and finished doing the dishes.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thanks for reading feel free to find me on tumblr @dyoxyys and on twitter @ejtsharks :-)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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